


It's the Little Things

by Rat_chan



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Romance, Wooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-08 20:27:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15937670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rat_chan/pseuds/Rat_chan
Summary: Graves and Newt are not together... yet. But start doing little things for one another to show they care.Written over a year and a half ago for a kinkmeme prompt for Graves/Newt "sweet and adorable wooing".





	1. Coffee is a natural love potion

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't really ship this pairing (I mean, we never even met the original Percival Graves) until this prompt came along. The prompter suggested Newt making coffee for Graves and... Yeah, that was it. Had to do it. Please note that this is my version of original Graves, so if it doesn't mesh with yours...

Newt flicked his wand surreptitiously, once more parting the fronds of the dragon tree he was using for a blind. He continued his study of the dietary habits of his subject.  
  
 _Primarily carnivorous, with a preference for poultry._ The magizoologist observed. _Feeds efficiently and tidily. Seems to avoid legumes in favor of starch-rich tuberous vegetables. And... Merlin's Beard! He's looking this way._  
  
He dropped his wand -- literally, in his haste -- and took a hurried sip of his tea as his leafy cover resumed its natural position. A passing MACUSA witch frowned sidelong at him as she passed his table. Thankfully, neither she nor her uncomfortable scrutiny lingered.  
  
Newt sighed, slumping in his chair. "Why is this so difficult?" he asked the bowtruckle that had wandered down his sleeve.  
  
"Hmm..." Pickett trilled his shared ignorance as he scrambled down to the table. He gave somewhat more encouraging peeps as he pushed the fallen wand back toward the wizard.  
  
"Thank you." Newt smiled at the dear creature, who beamed in response. Still, he thought he would have to give up his 'Study of Percival Graves in his Natural Habitat' as a failure. In a week of attempted close observation, he had succeeded in learning only that the older wizard worked hard, drank his coffee, and worked harder... And that Newt himself was very uncomfortable stalking a fellow human being.  
  
 _Human courtship is a complete mystery._ He loosed another sigh around the side of his thumb, which had somehow ended slightly nipped between his teeth. He withdrew it and tapped it against his lips as he thought. _If we were beasts..._ But he could not very well douse himself in New York wizard musk, flare out his open coat, and roll around on Director Graves's desk!  
  
"Heep!" A surprised, but quickly suppressed giggle came from behind him. Mortified, he turned to, briefly, meet Queenie Goldstein's gaze. She approached his table with a smile that was equal parts warmth, apology, and manic glee.  
  
"I suppose I was thinking rather loudly." He accepted her apology and magically pushed out a chair for her.  
  
"You know, people aren't really that complicated," she said after sitting down. "Some of us make things complicated..." She tipped her golden head and her smile widened.  
  
"Maybe," he answered, briefly answering her grin before lowering his gaze to his teacup. "But I understand creatures. I don't--" His eyes flicked back to her face. "I can't..." Back down to his cold tea.  
  
"Well, most folks gets to know one another by talking."  
  
"About what?"  
  
"Hmm. Well..." Her smile became conspiratorial as she tapped her wand against his cup, warming the contents. "Tina's more than once heard him ask who he's gotta jinx to get a decent cup of coffee 'round here."  
  
\-- -- -- -- --  
  
Newt's free hand hovered in front of the Graves's office door, ready to knock... even if its owner was not. His fingertips lightly scratched his palm as his hand shifted toward, then away from the newly reinforced surface.  
  
"Just come in, already," a vaguely irritated, magically amplified voice clipped out as the door swung inward. "Mister Scamander."  
  
His raised hand lowered awkwardly to join the tight grip of the other on his case. "Umm, good afternoon, Director Graves." Greetings, at least, he could manage... when he remembered. His eyes flicked around the impeccable office as he entered. Finding it fortunately clear of other wizards, he started, "I, uh..." Of course human words failed him at direct eye contact. The Auror's gaze was electrifying. When Grindelwald had worn his form, that stare had been frightening, but the genuine article caused a rather different fluttering in Newt's belly. "I have..." He shifted his sight to the gray at the other man's temples -- an equally striking sight and infinitely easier to look at.  
  
"Yes?" Graves prompted, sounding... strangely not annoyed.  
  
"I..." The younger wizard cut off again, this time startled by the sound of the door closing behind him. His eyes darted from hair to eyes to uncurved but not uninviting lips to the menagerie of paperwork jostling -- in some cases wrestling -- for attention on the desk. "I can see that you're very busy." He started to turn away, reaching for the door, cheeks warm. "I'll just--"  
  
"Wait." The command (request?) was accompanied by the creaking of a chair. And firm footsteps. "Whatever... is--" The Auror's tone shifted and Newt peered at him through the screen of his bangs. He saw the other wizard's nostril flare slightly. "Whatever is that... is that real coffee?"  
  
"I believe so, an acquaintance from Yemen--"  
  
"Are you telling me," Graves queried, grasping his visitor's shoulders, "that you have coffee from the port of Al Mokha?"  
  
Newt's fight or flight instincts at the sudden contact were melted by the warmth of proximity... and the hint of desperate hope in the other man's eyes. "Yes...?"  
  
"Get in here." He was pulled deeper into the room. "Sit. Please." The last word came as an afterthought as the grip on his shoulders was removed. "Now," the director prompted as he sat down.  
  
"Well, on my way to Africa," Newt began, settling his case on his lap, "I encountered a Yemeni wizard who was having a spot of bother with a griffin. A magnificent creature with a metallic sheen to her feathers. Larger than I expected, but she'd have to be to survive in habitats overlapping Sphinx terri...tor..." He trailed off, cheeks heating again. Graves's gaze was so intently fixed on his face. "Anyway." The magizoologist lowered hands he just realized he had lifted in animated illustration of his tale. He continued as he lifted his case onto the desk, "The coffee was his gift of thanks." He did not add that it was a deliberately called in favor. "And I thought, maybe--"  
  
"You are not opening that case in my office." His words and motion were interrupted.  
  
"Not to worry, sir." He smiled as he made a show of clicking the case's lock, with some hopefully less showy effort, to "Muggle Worthy". The mundane compartment contained a waxed parchment parcel and a coffee siphon. A smoky, velvety aroma that even a tea lover could appreciate filled the room.  
  
Wordlessly, Graves reached in and lifted the packet. Newt's gaze followed its path upward. Frown lines on the older man's face disappeared as his eyes closed and he inhaled deeply.  
  
"Very fine."  
  
Both men blinked and Newt was suddenly unsure which of them had spoken. He promptly made himself very busy setting up the siphon and closing his case as Graves set the coffee on the desk.  
  
"I heard you liked coffee and thought I'd share," he explained abruptly.  
  
"I like _good_ coffee," he was corrected. At the return to the accustomed brisk tone, he risked another look at the Auror. "They actually think instant coffee is a good No-maj invention here." As the man spoke, he opened the packet and took out a bean. He rolled it between strong, capable fingers before placing it directly on his tongue.  
  
Water splatted onto the desk as Newt, distracted, overdid his Aguamenti charm. The desk's owner was fortunately too engaged slowly chewing that single bean, eyes closed again as he savored it. "A very skilled roast."  
  
"Thank you." The magizoologist added his flush of pleasure to the spelled flame he lit under the siphon's bulb.  
  
"You roasted these yourself?" The calm surprise in Graves's tone invited Newt's half-gaze.  
  
"I had to," he explained to the impeccably tailored suit. "The Yemeni wizard sent me whole coffee cherries."  
  
"You realize, Mr. Scamander, that No-maj authorities have very strict policies about the import of fresh produce."  
  
 _Oh heck._ He looked at the Auror's face. Wait... was he smiling?  
  
An overly loud bubbling sounded from the siphon and hot water rose from bulb to hopper with alarming speed. Newt made himself very busy with temperature control.  
  
And he started babbling, "Dougal is rather partial to fruit. He picked out the best ones."  
  
"Dougal?"  
  
"My Demiguise." While he explained, he levitated some of the coffee and magically ground it directly into the water. "He really enjoyed the cherries. He's never had anything like them before. His eyes glowed like he was seeing every beautiful probability when he chewed them. Then he kindly spat out the seeds for..." 'Ah.' He nervously tapped his wand to push the coffee grounds deeper into the brew. 'Right.' That was the part of the narrative he was supposed to leave out in polite wizard society.  
  
Graves, however, did not seem perturbed when the magizoologist glanced at him. He looked... engaged. "Where did you learn to roast coffee?"  
  
"Oh, erm, here and there." It had been the most reading he had done since unceremoniously leaving Hogwarts. "I think it's just about ready," he conveniently changed the subject while he undid his fire charm and stirred the coffee. "I'm afraid I didn't bring any milk or sugar... Or cups..."  
  
"Not a problem." Newt's almost dropped his wand as his companion smiled again and summoned a coffee service from a cabinet. "Mr. Scamander?"  
  
"J-just some cream for me, please." The raised eyebrow in response to his stammer did nothing to diminish his inexplicable arrhythmia. "And you can call me Newt."  
  
The distinctive brow remained raised as Graves poured a dollop of cream into one of the cups. Newt shifted his attention back to the siphon. All of the fluid had drained from the upper vessel, so he removed it. He carefully poured the steaming, fragrant brew into the waiting mugs.  
  
"There you are, sir," he said after using the weakest of cooling charms to bring the coffee to optimal temperature.  
  
"Thanks," the Auror replied, raising his mug to his lips. His eyes closed yet again as he inhaled deeply. He tipped the cup gradually and took a sip. Newt watched the pursing of the lips, the slow rolling of jaw muscles, and the graceful bobbing of Adam's apple over neatly buttoned collar. The lips parted again, loosing a small sigh, but the eyes stayed shut.  
  
"Director Graves?" He queried apprehensively.  
  
"Percival," the older wizard breathed more than spoke, eyes opening at last.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Call me Percival," he clarified, the steam from the coffee apparently warming his face and giving his smiling eyes the illusion of twinkling.  
  
"Very well, si-- I mean--"  
  
 **Snap!** One of the creatures in Newt's case came to his rescue, popping a lock.  
  
"Drop by again sometime," Percival invited, his mouth twisting almost mirthfully. "We'll see about fixing that lock!"


	2. A little elbow grease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival promised Newt he'd fix that dang lock on the case. Now he just has to learn how to do that before Newt's next visit.

"Drop by again sometime," Graves repeated to the document lizard that was ramming itself against his wand hand. His desk had gradually become a paper circus since the departure of his guest, with animated paperwork vying for his attention in increasingly aggressive displays. Vicious paper cuts, however, were not enough to distract him from his... distraction. "Drop by again sometime. Ugh." He sounded like a giggle water advertisement. He hoped he at least had not looked as... asinine as those laughing newspaper images.  
  
"I'd like that." Newt Scamander had not sounded derisive. "Very much." He had appeared sincerely pleased, smiling shyly across the desk. A soft flush had highlighted freckles and brought out a verdant glow in his eyes during a rare moment of eye contact.  
  
An unaccustomed warmth belatedly answered that. _I really meant that, too._ Not that the director of Aurors was given to polite insincerities but...  
  
He repressed a sigh as he turned his hand on the desk. The most insistent of the paperwork climbed on and he lifted it up and regarded it as it twisted around in a confused circle on his palm. _You and me both._ And yet... it was not an unwelcome bewilderment.  
  
 _Anything but,_ Graves mused as the paper lizard flared its text-covered ruff, reminding him of the magizoologist's effusions over the creatures he studied. The man shone with pure, radiant joy one moment, then eclipsed himself in his soft, rumpled hair and dexterous hands the next.  
  
"Call me Percival," he had said, intoxicated by Mokha coffee and whatever charm or jinx Scamander's presence had cast. When had he ever said that before? "Phew." The document on his hand was blown back to his desk by the uncontained suspiration.  
  
"Ah." The unfortunate paper beast was then crushed by the sudden slap of the wizard's hands on his desk as he recalled the last thing he had said.  
  
"Harding," he dictated, wand out and setting the spectacle on his desk to rights. "Research request." His quill scratched a missive to a junior librarian as he got back to work with more impatience than enthusiasm. "Everything we have on magic locks: care and repair."  
  
\-- -- -- -- --  
  
That hesitant knock, when it finally came, was both too soon and not soon enough. Too soon because both spare time to practice and, apparently, everything the MACUSA library had on magical locks were limited.  
  
And not soon enough because... well, the suddenly vibrant rhythm of his pulse answered that.  
  
"Come in," he called as, with a single motion of his wand, he slowly opened the door and cleared away the volume on magical locksmithing (plus an additional volume Harding had "helpfully" added to make up for scarcity). "I've been expecting you. Newt," he added, recalling the other man's belated return invitation to call him by name.  
  
"You have?" Newt queried while gently kicking the door shut behind him. He looked as appealingly disheveled as ever, loose hair falling across his face, one hand clutching his precious, infamous case and the other holding closed the oddly bulging lapels of his coat. "Oh, right." The slightly manic smile he had worn when entering the room softened. "I'm afraid this isn't purely a social call. Percival."  
  
When had his own name become a charm? Graves mused, briefly motionless in the green beam of his visitor's gaze. "What-- is that?" His question changed when he saw yellow fur suddenly sprout at the magizoologist's neck.  
  
"That is what I came to see you about," the younger wizard explained, setting his case on the desk and using both hands to pull out a cream colored hairball and cradle it between them. "The last Appaloosa Puffskein!"  
  
"Why..." That question lost to the excitement Newt radiated. "Where did you find it?"  
  
"In a Muggle schoolyard, hm?" he punctuated his reply with an encouraging hum to the creature. "They all seemed so happy, I hated to take her away, but..." He trailed off momentarily as the puffskein trilled and snuggled in his hands. "Well, they won't miss her after being Obliviated."  
  
'This isn't my department.' 'Did you Obliviate every No-maj involved?' 'Have you filed a report?'  
  
There were so many things the Auror should say or ask, but none of them seemed very pressing. Not when Newt was smiling adoringly at the creature as his thumbs caressed the sides of its face. Not when he held it up and then turned that smile on his human companion. "Joyce, this is Percival."  
  
 **Pop!** Graves was literally snapped back to attention by that unpredictable case. "Sit," he said abruptly. "Have a seat," he immediately amended. "We can figure out what to do with that puffskein--"  
  
"Joyce."  
  
"--While I finally take care of this."  
  
"You will be caref--" the other man started before shaking his head. "Please," he said instead, simply, sitting down.  
  
 _Here goes..._ The Auror pulled open a drawer and took out a small screwdriver. "Let's see what we've got," he said aloud, sliding the case closer and turning the lock toward him. He did not look at his guest -- he was not going to have the attention to spare. The trickier part of magical locksmithing, it seemed, was using the wand in one's non-dominant hand while mundanely manipulating the physical mechanism. He could listen, though... probably. "About Joyce?" he prompted as he silently cast a diagnostic charm.  
  
"Well, after reading last year's report on shutting down the breeding program--"  
  
"You read the report?" That earned him an almost-frown. And his distracted casting earned him a rapid flapping of the suitcase lock. "Sorry," he apologized to them both, pushing the lock closed. "Go on."  
  
Newt wove an improbable tale that started with a suspicion of overlooked puffskein nests, through a visit to a gossipy herbologist with an obsession with mooncalf manure, and finished with a trail of chalk sidewalk scribbles. Graves tried to keep his attention mostly on the task at hand, but that was equally tricky. The other man's social awkwardness was gone, eclipsed by enthusiasm for his topic. At some point in the narrative, the puffskein had been moved to a shoulder, where it happily nuzzled neck and cheek. This freed those expressive hands to animate the story.  
  
"So, is it in very bad shape?" Newt abruptly asked.  
  
"Hm? Oh." The lengthy investigation had apparently, for good or ill, not been attributed to lack of skill. "Not too bad. Just poorly maintained." And fortunately within the Auror's scope of capabilities. Still, he was perhaps being a little showy when he removed his coat, unbuttoned his cuffs, and rolled his sleeves to get to work.  
  
"That's... good to hear." An odd hitch punctuated the reply as Graves went to work. He held the tiny screwdriver in the corner of his mouth as he magically cleaned and lubricated the mechanism. He pulled it out to use a combination of magic and handiwork to tighten up the latch. He finally tucked it over an ear and finished off murmuring a reinforcement of the charm on the lock.  
  
"Well," he said wiping his forehead, somehow inadvertently rubbing in some grease, and he shifted his attention back to his guest. "That ought to... do it." Newt was staring at him, lips slightly parted. 'What?' There suddenly was not quite enough air to voice the question.  
  
"Per--" **Crash!!** A cascade of books and papers interrupted. At some point, Joyce had, somehow unnoticed, jumped from Newt's shoulder to stalk a juicy spider. Her pounce had knocked down everything on the far end of the desk. "Here, let me," the magizoologist offered apologetically as he crouched down to clean up the mess.  
  
"That's all-- Wait!" Graves realized his library books were in that jumble.  
  
" _On the Care and Maintenance of Magick Locks_?" Too late, of course. He knelt on the floor and reached for the nearest paper. His hand was stopped, however. "Percival." He looked up from the floor to meet warm green eyes. "Thank you."  
  
"You're welcome," was all the response he could manage.  
  
"But..." A twinkle entered that gaze and a smile quirked the corner of Newt's mouth. "You do realize that this book is _not_ about locksmithing?"  
  
 _You are fired, Harding._ Graves quickly snatched the offending extra volume out of the other man's grip. "Yes, yes. I know!" He froze again. "But how do _you_ know?"  
  
"Quite the topic amongst 6th and 7th year students at Hogwarts." The younger wizard had the good grace to hide his expression behind the puffskein he rescued from the paperwork. The creature's humming, though, could not mask the stifled laughter.  
  
"I--" He was saved from response by a brisk knock, immediately followed by the entrance of one of his Aurors. "Goldstein." He hastily rose. "What?"  
  
"I might ask you the same thing, sir." Porpentina looked from Graves to Newt to the chaos on the floor and back again. Her eyes narrowed on the book in his hands and she took a protective step toward the still laughing magizoologist. "What is that?"  
  
"It's a sign," he said, straightening fully and throwing the book down on his desk. It was followed by the screwdriver. "That MACUSA needs to do much more thorough vetting of both the contents and the staff of its library." He pulled down his sleeves. "Now what made you barge into my office, Ms. Goldstein?" He asked, buttoning his cuffs.  
  
"President Picquery wants to see you. Sir," she belatedly added as she helped Newt to his feet. "What is that?" she whispered to him.  
  
"This is Joyce," the rising wizard answered happily, handing the creature to his friend.  
  
"She's an Appaloosa Puffskein," Graves added. "Picquery in her office?"  
  
Goldstein continued to look perplexedly between the two men, Joyce humming happily against her collarbone. "Yes..." she finally answered, then blurted, "Sir, you realize that book isn't about--"  
  
"I know!" He snapped, grabbing his jacket and heading for the door. "Out," he told the other two. "Goldstein with me." Back to business.  
  
"What about the puffskein?" The junior Auror asked, handing it back.  
  
"Mr. Scamander will be coming back later to discuss Joyce."  
  
"See you later, Percival," Newt responded, grinning subtly and waving what passed for hands on a puffskein at him.  
  
Graves barely heard Tina's bewildered "Percival?" behind him. He was far too preoccupied with keeping an inane smile from overtaking his features.


	3. Sugar's sweet and so is she

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things seem to be going well so far. Now, if only Newt can manage a "normal human conversation". You know, talking about something other than magical creatures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is taken from the lyrics to the song "Bye, Bye Blackbird".

"He called you Joyce," Newt said to the Appaloosa Puffskein that was once more tucked in the lapels of his coat. "You know what that means?" Joyce clearly did not, but, being snug and happy, she hummed in reply. _I think it means I can keep you,_ he silently explained, having noticed a relatively young witch goggling him from another table.  
  
 _Public spaces..._ He shook his head slightly, lips curving in a self-deprecating smile as he turned his attention to his food. There was a clattering of silverware from the other table, but it barely impinged on his thoughts.  
  
Percival Graves. The image of salt and pepper hair over a warm, subtle smile absorbed his consciousness as the magizoologist absently cut bits of meat to feed to Joyce. He recalled... The deft movements of strong fingers rolling up sleeves, which fabric strained against contracting muscles... The out of control broom ride of expression from minor panic to chagrin to exasperation... That soaring, exhilarating feeling when hands touched and eyes met, like--  
  
"Well aren't you just a tall glass of giggle water." His train of non-thought was halted by Queenie, who seemed to have Apparated in front of him. And whose wide, blissful grin was almost certainly a mirror of his own expression.  
  
"I think Percival will allow me to keep Joyce," he told her, magically pushing a chair out for her.  
  
"I think Percival will do a lot more than that!" Her joyful smile became, impossibly, more radiant as she took the offered seat, setting a white box on the table. "Can I see her?"  
  
"Of course, but..." He glanced around the MACUSA dining hall.  
  
"You're Newt Scamander."  
  
"The infamous?" He asked, smile twisting wryly to the left before he shrugged and gently lifted the puffskein out of his coat.  
  
The blonde witch cooed softly as she took Joyce in both hands. "Trust me, honey, that's not why they're staring at you."  
  
Not having a response to that enigmatic comment, he said instead, "She is, I believe, the last Appaloosa Puffskein."  
  
"She's precious." Queenie raised Joyce to her cheek and basked, eyes closed, in the creature's soft fur and soothing hum. She opened them after a moment and prompted, "Well?"  
  
"Well, what?" He lowered his gaze to his food again while nervous fingers went first to his hair, then his mouth. "Don't you already know?" He knew she would not deliberately read him, but "Percival Graves might just fancy me, too!" might as well have been exploding in magical fireworks over his head, as huge as that thought was in his mind.  
  
She chuckled at that, lightly touching the hand that had remained on the table, and responded, "But I want to hear you tell me all about it, and so does Teenie."  
  
"Tell us all about what?" Tina asked, startling Newt as she came up behind him. She gave Joyce a passing pat, then pulled out a chair and sat down before he had a chance to offer.  
  
"I thought you were with the president," he said, making room for her food tray.  
  
"I just passed on some bits and pieces from informants. I haven't been involved in the case." She shrugged off the subject. "Now, tell us about what?"  
  
"Why all about him and..." Queenie's smile turned a bit wicked, "Percival."  
  
"Per-- No." The darker sister shook her head. "He's Director Graves. And yes, Newt, explain what exactly it was I saw back there."  
  
"Um--"  
  
A bright peel of laughter cut him off. "Really?" The Legilimens fought for composure as eyes once more focused on their table. "He had _that_ book?"  
  
Tina's eyes narrowed. "Newt, if he tries anything from--"  
  
"He won't." He interrupted, voice soft though he could feel his expression warring between humor and feeling touched at her concern. "I honestly don't think he knew what it was."  
  
"Well, I suppose..." It was her face's turn to be undecided as it wavered between amusement and bewilderment. "I've never seen him look remotely flustered before."  
  
"He fixed the lock on my case," he added happily.  
  
"That's..." Before Tina could decide quite what she thought of that, her sister chimed in again.  
  
"You mean he actually thought it was about _locks_?" Queenie's eyes gleamed in a way that Newt didn't understand as she grinned conspiratorially at a bemused but happy puffskein.  
  
"Queenie." Her sister apparently comprehended what man and beast could not. "You wouldn't."  
  
"Not much, Teenie. Besides, a little gossip will be good for him." Tina raised an eyebrow at that. "He's gotta be feeling so... apart."  
  
"I thought you couldn't read him?"  
  
"I can't, but think about it." Newt did, suddenly feeling.... heavier. "He's abducted, locked away." He couldn't recall seeing Percival look anything but strong and sure. "And then, when he gets back he finds out nobody he knows even noticed the imposter."  
  
"I just thought..." Tina responded hesitantly. "You know, the war and all... Well, all anyone heard him say afterward was something about being glad Grindelwald had kept up the paperwork." He managed a half smile at the characteristic remark. "Has he said anything to you?"  
  
"It, um, hasn't come up," he said guiltily, fidgeting with his fork.  
  
"Don't tell me you've done nothing but talk about your creatures?"  
  
"We also talked about coffee." Creatures had come up then, too. "A little."  
  
"I don't think he minds too much." Queenie reassured him. "And there're plenty more chances. In the meantime... Teenie," she turned her attention to her sister, "That is not all you're eating."  
  
"You've spoiled me." Tina grimaced at her plate.  
  
"Luckily," the blonde witch untied the paper ribbon on her box, "I stopped by Jacob's bakery." She revealed a small menagerie of baked goods. "Demiguise?" She offered.  
  
Newt met danish Dougal's eyes and almost flinched. "I had a big breakfast."  
  
"I'll take a niffler." Did they have to call them by the creature names? "And an occamy egg."  
  
"I--" He jumped to his feet, interrupting Queenie's decapitation of a pastry thunderbird. "Percival still wanted to discuss Joyce," he attempted to excuse himself.  
  
"He's probably still busy with Picquery," Tina answered around a grisly mouthful.  
  
"I'll just check in any case..." Not that he knew now what he would say -- what they would talk about...  
  
"It'll be fine, honey." Queenie gave him an encouraging smile as she passed Joyce back to him. The puffskein was gnawing on what might once have been mooncalf bread. "Just make some coffee."  
  
"Thank you," he replied, incapable of not returning her smile.  
  
"And have a normal, human conversation," Tina supplied. He managed to keep a grin (grimace?) on his face as he waved goodbye.  
  
"He'll do better than both of you think." He heard Queenie say as he walked away. "You'll see."  
  
\-- -- -- -- --  
  
It was not until the next morning that Newt could finally meet Percival. He made his way, alternating between brisk and lagging paces, through MACUSA corridors.  
  
 _A normal, human conversation._ He had had several with Jacob, Queenie, and Tina. It should be just as easy with Percival.  
  
'Say, what are you into, besides coffee and magical security?'  
  
No. That was awkward teenager conversation.  
  
'So, how are you adjusting after your ordeal?'  
  
Is that what it would sound like if a murtlap could make conversation?  
  
"People aren't really that complicated," Queenie had said. Human conversation, on the other hand... was a way to make things complicated.  
  
"Hum." Joyce, sensing his confusion, made her soothing hum.  
  
"Thanks," he answered her, earning happy vibrations. "You're straightforward enough." And so was coffee. That was a start... and there was the door.  
  
"Come on in" sounded and the door opened almost as soon as he touched it. The smell of the office, somehow cozy (wood, wool, and lingering coffee) and professional (parchment, leather, and ink), instantly relaxed him.  
  
"Good morning," he said, entering with a smile. "I--" His mouth swiftly turned downward as he met the other man's gaze. Percival's return smile was weighted by apparent fatigue and dark circles were forming under his eyes. And his collar was ever so slightly askew. "Did you sleep?"  
  
The Auror's expression turned rueful. "I was here all night," he explained, allowing his elbows to rest on his desk and raising fingers to the bridge of his nose. "Do I look that bad?" He asked, still smiling, chin resting in the L made by thumb and index finger.  
  
"No," Newt replied, eyes fixing on the hint of stubble on the older man's cheeks and the subtle disarray of his hair. He remembered himself when the smile he was staring at shifted to a smirk. "You do look a bit... disreputable, though." As they shared a moment of laughter, he finally started to believe what Queenie had told him. "Anything I can do?" Simple as that.  
  
"Unless you know much about intercity illegal potion cartels..." He shook his head. "Then a good, strong cup of coffee will be more than enough."  
  
"I can manage that. Do you mind?" He set his case on the desk and then held Joyce out to his host.  
  
"Our little troublemaker," Percival said, taking the puffskein and holding her up to make eye contact. Joyce hummed a high, happy greeting. Newt's heart did an inaudible imitation of the sound at both the words and the gentle grin that accompanied them.  
  
Cheeks heating, he busied himself with his case. Mechanism smooth now, he flicked it to "Muggle Worthy" and opened it. "Dark roasted and percolated sound good?"  
  
"Sounds perfect," the tired wizard sighed as he rested the puffskein on his shoulder.  
  
Newt cast Aguamenti and set to work. "I haven't used this very much..." Just once, in practice, since Jacob had given it to him. "How long should it perk?"  
  
"Until a wand stands up in it," Percival replied. He held Joyce with his free hand while he reached down to his lower desk drawer.  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"It's what the frontier wizards used to say." He pulled out something surprisingly large. "It'll take a while and I'll keep an eye on it. In the meantime..."  
  
Heating spell working steadily and ground coffee loaded in the basket, Newt looked fully at the other object on the desk. "A phonograph?"  
  
"An indulgence in times like this." Percival reached down again and pulled out some records. "Most of my collection is at home, but you can choose from what's here." He leaned back, splitting his attention between his guest and the coffee.  
  
The magizoologist leaned forward and picked up the first disc. He did not know this Mr. Armstrong, but _Heebie Jeebies_ sounded like one heck of a jinx. He looked at the next and finally registered that the images on the covers were still. "Is this Muggle music?"  
  
The Auror shrugged. "Music is its own magic. The simplest kind." He turned fully to his companion. "No-maj music speaks to the part of us that is just human." There was a distant gleam in his eyes. "Sometimes we need that."  
  
Newt looked again at the records, noticing that a disproportionate number of them bore dates in the current year. _I guess relief over paperwork wasn't the only thing he felt..._ He glanced up again. Percival was absently stroking Joyce as he stared, eyes vague, at the phonograph. For a few moments, only the bubbling percolator and humming puffskein made any sound. The younger man flipped through the discs again, finding the one that sounded the most uplifting.  
  
 _If music is magic, let's hope this is a healing kind._ Aloud, he said, "I don't know a thing about Muggle music, but this has 'bird' in the title, so..."  
  
The Auror's gaze regained focus. He looked from the record to Newt and his mouth curved with humor. "'Bye Bye, Blackbird'?"  
  
"No good?"  
  
"It's perfect." He accepted the disc. "Thank you," he added, voice softer, smile and crinkling eyes warmed with gratitude. Newt simply smiled in return. "Coffee's about ready, by the way. Cups are..." He waved his wand, magicking out the dishes and then started setting up the phonograph.  
  
The first buzz of static and merry notes of music sounded as Newt poured a generous cup for Percival and, after a whiff of the strong brew, a very modest serving for himself. He passed the full cup as is and then accepted the creamer from his host.  
  
"Oh," the Auror gingerly took a sip, hissed at the heat, but still took another. "That is what I needed." He smiled through the steam off his cup. "Well, what do you think?" He jerked his head slightly toward the phonograph.  
  
"I can see why you like it." It really did make one feel... liberated. And it seemed it was not just the humans, either. Joyce had perked up, eyes wide, but not distressed. She wiggled in time with the music and made occasional happy squeaks. "I think Joyce loves it, though."  
  
"Is excellent taste in music something Appaloosa Puffskein are known for?" Percival split a smile between his two guests, wizard and beast.  
  
"Not that I've heard. It could be that the increased intelligence they were bred for enables them to..." _Oops_. Newt sheepishly returned the grin, but not the raised eyebrow, that was directed at him. He took a sip of his coffee, eyes widening at the strength. He watched the other man mask a smirk behind his own coffee cup. Then, his eyes widened again as Percival dipped the tip of a finger in his mug and held it up to Joyce, who licked it with evident relish.  
  
"She really does have good taste." It was a good thing the magizoologist was no longer holding his own cup. He would have dropped it. As it was... The scene before him... Percival Graves, smiling fondly at a puffskein as he scratched her head and fed her a bit of sugar...  
  
"Merlin's Beard..." he breathed as the suddenly overheated room seemed to almost spin around him.  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"You should keep Joyce!" he blurted out, impulsively. Yet, even when he thought it through -- flushing as he did so at Percival's renewed smirk -- it was a good idea. A good home for the last Appaloosa Puffskein and a calming companion for a slowly healing wizard.  
  
"Well," the Auror drawled his answer, looking back and forth between Joyce's adoring gaze and Newt's, which was undoubtedly equally shining. "I almost think you're right, but..." His smirk smoothed a bit. "In all seriousness--"  
  
"The care of Appaloosa Puffskein is incredibly simple. They don't mind hours spent alone. They eat almost anything, though I wouldn't recommend too much coffee or sugar." Percival sipped his coffee and listened patiently as Newt rattled on. "They are very quick to house train and, unlike other breeds, have no propensity to drink from commodes..." The older man was smiling at him again. "And they eat spiders and insects."  
  
"Well..." Joyce snuggled against Percival's cheek, humming more contentedly than ever. Newt's heart -- and the room around him -- flip-flopped again at the sight of the strong hand that instinctively cradled the wee creature. "How about a trial period?"  
  
The magizoologist's only answer was a wide, uncontainable grin. The other wizard set his cup down with an uncharacteristic clatter. For a few seconds, there was just the scraping of the needle against the long-finished phonograph record.  
  
"I'm afraid," Percival finally said, breaking silence and eye contact, "that my coffee break is over." He looked regretfully at his empty cup.  
  
"Of course." Newt stood with equal regret but no hesitation. "You'll let me know if there's anything I can do?" He offered as he waved his wand to tidy up.  
  
"Naturally."  
  
With that, they took their leave. He smiled, case swinging slightly in his hand, as the door closed behind him. _Normal human conversation achieved._  
  
"Ack!" He froze midway through his first step away from the door.  
  
He had spent half the conversation talking about beasts...  
  
 _Oh, well..._  He resumed motion. _I'll do better next time._ He sang softly as he went to his own work, "Bye, bye blackbird."


	4. Simple and few

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival finds a little gift for Newt (well, one of Newt's creatures) while working that illegal potions cartel case. That gets him an invitation to the magical mini world inside the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It didn't seem like any of Grave's other Aurors had set names, so I just used random names.
> 
> Spells, potions, and magical plants were looked up.

"Good work, Rawlins," Graves told the most Junior Auror on his team. "More Ilvermorny than MACUSA, but it got the job done." He was going to be embarrassed to have it on paper that a member of his team had downed a suspect by hexing the man's shoelaces together. The telling, however, would be sure to amuse the listener.  
  
"Thank you, sir." He distantly acknowledged Rawlin's beaming gratitude with a nod of him head, as an image of twinkling green eyes and the suggestion of bright tenor laughter hovered in his consciousness. "Sir?"  
  
With a purely mental shake of his head, he told his subordinate, "Take that man to holding and stay for the processing." The young wizard beamed at him again before Apparating away, bound suspect in hand. "As for the rest of you..." Graves turned to the other Aurors, who were all staring at him with varying degrees of perplexity. "Time to clean up."  
  
Though many of them shared glances that asked "what's gotten into him?", the customary stern look and brusque voice of their Director sped them to action. Their boss kept his mind off the answer to their question by supervising their work with a critical eye.  
  
"Powell! Do _not_ open that," he snapped at a witch fiddling the cork of a green potion. "That's Noxious Potion. Label it and secure it." It had been decades since the Department had dealt with an illegal potions operation of this scale. "Wells. Check that cauldron for residue before bagging it." Protocols had clearly been forgotten. "Higgins, wait!" And some protocol changes had apparently not been communicated well enough.  
  
"What's the matter, sir?" The wizard addressed asked, wand pointed at a snarling, spiky, dun-colored creature in a tank. "I was just going to dispose of this..."  
  
"Murtlap," Graves informed him, recognizing it from Newt's book. "New procedure, Higgins. All beasts are to be Stupefied and taken promptly to Mr. Scamander." The Auror nodded and raised his wand again. "Gently." The creature had been hurt enough.  
  
"Director, sir!" Another member of the team called Graves away from the bemused but obedient wizard. "I think I've found the ringleader's office."  
  
He strode deeper into the brick warehouse that had served the cartel as their New York base. The witch who had called him over was casting Alohomora on a padlocked iron-bound door. The lock repeatedly resisted the spell and the caster frowned before saying, "Portaberto!"  
  
"Primitive but effective, O'Keefe," he commented, as the padlock seemed to tear itself and the latch out of the woodwork. "I'm glad you didn't go medieval on it and cast 'Open Sesame'."  
  
"I wanted to," O'Keefe muttered before silently casting Lumos and scanning the now open office. "Clear, sir."  
  
"Don't sound disappointed, yet," he responded, halting her forward motion with a raised hand. "There might still be a booby trap. Revelio!" His spell illuminated an invisible tripwire just inside the doorway. "Am I surrounded by schoolboys?" The wire was attached to a cauldron overhead, likely filled with something nasty. "Seal off that cauldron," he ordered his subordinate while he magically cut the wire, "And label it hazardous before Powell gets in here."  
  
"It won't happen again, sir!" sounded half-heartedly from outside the office as he moved past the chuckling, yet compliant O'Keefe.  
  
"Jackpot," he said, surveying the tidy desk and marked, orderly filing cabinet. "If there's anything I like about organized crime, it's that it's organized." That paperwork would bring the rest of the case to a rapid close. "Have Wells take the whole cabinet when he gets... here..."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Search the drawers, O'Keefe. Carefully." He waved vaguely at the desk as he moved to what had caught his eye. The mostly bare tree seemed grossly out of place in the spartan room. 'It can't be...' But there was the barest hint of shiny copper in the single desiccated leaf laying over the tree's roots. The incipient new growth also showed the merest metallic glimmer.  
  
 _Niffler's Fancy._ Newt was instantly back in his thoughts. Graves had never met the creature, but he knew that the magizoologist's Niffler was an inveterate kleptomaniac. Perhaps...  
  
"What's that, sir?" Wells asked from where he and Powell stood in the doorway.  
  
"It's a tree, Wells. Did you sleep through Herbology like you sleep through briefings?" The Director deflected.  
  
"One time, sir! It was just--" The protesting wizard noticed the hint of a smirk that his boss was unable to hold back. "I'll get the cabinet, sir."  
  
"Yes. And Powell, take _care_ of that cauldron." He put a touch of ironic emphasis on the fifth word.  
  
"Yes, sir." The witch complied with something between a grimace and a smile.  
  
"I'll take care of the tree," Graves informed them, tone deliberately professional.  
  
"Are you sure that **this** isn't what you want to take, sir?" O'Keefe asked him, grinning wickedly and holding up something she had found in the desk. It looked like a pair of some sort of clamps, but he could not imagine what practical...  
  
 _Harding!_ Firing -- unless it was out of a cannon and into the Hudson -- would not be enough of a punishment for that damned librarian. "Good news, folks," he said aloud as apprehension tinged the witch's smile. "O'Keefe just volunteered to write the entire report on this bust." He gave her back her earlier smirk as he picked up the potted tree. "Wrap things up and get back to MACUSA, ASAP," he ordered over his underlings' mutual laughter.  
  
A groan, the clatter of the clamps hitting the desk, and more chuckles followed him out the office door. He shifted his grip on the heavy wooden planter as his smug expression shifted into something softer as he thought of his eventual destination.  
  
Just before he Apparated out, he overheard, "You know, getting a pet's worked wonders on him!"  
  
\-- -- -- -- --

Graves stood outside the office of which Newt had been granted temporary usage. He smoothed his hair (even though he had already done so before coming) and straightened his suit (he had cast a pressing spell on it before leaving his own office) with his free hand -- his wand hand being occupied levitating shrubbery. He had also thought about popping home to pick up Joyce, but, given the day's earlier scene, he didn't think his dignity could bear up under the spectacle of bringing his pet to work.  
  
"Newt, it's me." He magically amplified his voice through the door while he knocked.  
  
"Come in." Though the voice sounded a bit harried, the reply was unhesitant. "Come in, Percival," the voice repeated, more warmly as the door started moving inward. He felt himself smiling before the opening door even revealed his host. "I hear congratulations are in order?"  
  
"Hm?" He queried as he nudged the door shut. "Oh, the sting." He shrugged and moved carefully into the room, watching his step in the magizoologist's domain. "Ah." He set his gift on the desk and finally took a good look at the other wizard. "I see Higgins found you." Newt looked even more disheveled that usual, tie dangling loose around his neck, buttons undone, and shirttail peeking from under waistcoat.  
  
"Auror Higgins was most scrupulous in his handling of the murtlap." Graves willed his gaze up from the hint of wiry pectorals, to the exposed hollow of throat, and up the slender column of the neck to the other man's face. "The creature, I'm afraid, still needs some reassurance of its safety." Newt loosed an explosive sigh between the fingers of his left hand as he leaned against his desk. "A lot of reassurance." Their eyes met and they shared a tired chuckle. "What's this, by the way?" He asked after their quiet mirth subsided, indicating the potted tree with a hand barely removed from his mouth.  
  
"A souvenir," the older wizard replied, not taking his eyes off the expressive digits and tired features reanimated by curiosity. "Take a good look." He watched the magizoologist's face as he examined the tree and saw the tiredness disappear completely in a breathtaking smile of pure wonder.  
  
"Is this Niffler's Fancy?" Newt apparently (and fortuitously) had no need of a reply. "It is, isn't it." He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the tree's roots, trunk, and branches in succession, murmuring incantations. "I have to take this down right away." He jumped to his feet and moved to his case as, under his magical care, a few of the plant's buds plumped and started to open. "You'll come down, too, won't you?" He invited with a warm, open smile from the entrance to his true domain.  
  
"You don't mind?" Graves must have been more tired than he thought. His voice sounded husky in his own ears.  
  
"Not a bit." A twinkle in those green eyes underlined the sentiment.  
  
"Then it will be my pleasure. Shall I?" Without waiting for an answer, he once more levitated the tree while he followed Newt down the ladder and into his sanctuary. It was not an easy trick managing the steps and navigating the astonishing progression of landscapes while simultaneously keeping his eyes on his host, his burden, and an awesome parade of fantastic creatures. "You found and captured all of these beasts on your own?" He knew the answer, but... that was an Erumpent over there.  
  
"Rescued, for the most part," the magizoologist corrected him, stroking the head of a yearling Graphorn in passing. There was no modesty, false or otherwise, just love for his creatures. "This one, however," he said as they approached a partially hollowed tree, "is another story." His tone was still affectionate, but there was an exasperated undertone. "How's my little nuisance today?" A dark, mole-like snout peeped out from the hollow, followed by the rest of what must be the Niffler. The small beast made a series of small grunts and squeaks as it proceeded to rifle Newt's pockets. "Oh no you don't, you greedy little troublemaker." He pulled the creature away from his waist and held it up to his guest. "Percival, this is my Niffler. Niffler, Percival has a present for you."  
  
The small magical animal clearly understood the word present. It... _He_ , the Auror mentally amended, squeaked more loudly and finally turned his attention to the older man. He started dancing in Newt's arms as the tree, now with a few leaves fully unfurled, floated toward them.  
  
"Happy birthday," Graves said, for lack of anything else appropriate. He settled the tree quickly as the Niffler launched himself through the air to land amongst the metallic foliage. He watched the now squealing beast wriggle in paroxysms of glee, repeatedly stroking every open leaf on the tree. Newt's eyes, when he met them over this display, shone with almost identical joy. The Auror felt his own features shift to mirror that happiness.  
  
" _Anything_ ," the younger man breathed.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Anything you want. Name it and it's yours."  
  
"It's just--" Graves stumbled over words, breath yet again stolen by his companion's smile and tongue tied by embarrassment. "It's no--" When had their positions shifted so utterly? "I didn't..."  
  
"You broke protocol for me, Percival." Humor and mock-accusation joined the glint in those verdant eyes.  
  
"Well..." The altered expression at least allowed him the breath to chuckle. And loosed his tongue enough to respond, "I'll think it over."  
  
"You do that," Newt replied, still smiling. "In the meantime, do you think you could feed the mooncalves for me?" He gestured toward a more grassy, moonlit habitat, from which progressively more plaintiff cries were coming. "It sounds as if they're rather hungry and I have to check on the new guy."  
  
"What happened to anything I want?" Graves asked with a raised eyebrow, finally finding his conversational footing once more.  
  
"Well, you're welcome to some of the Nundu's steak, if you're partial to raw antelope."  
  
"I'll pass, thanks." He could feel the tension melt from his shoulders as they shared another brief laugh. "What delicacy do I feed a mooncalf?"  
  
"The pods are over there..." The magizoologist pointed him in the right direction before heading off toward a lagoon in another habitat.  
  
Graves thought about the aforementioned Nundu as he tossed pods to the long-necked mooncalves. These wide-eyed creatures... his own affectionate Joyce... even the graphorns... He could understand those. But a giant beast fabled to have destroyed whole villages?  
  
"Remind me never to make him angry," he requested of a mooncalf, scratching its head. "And, I just talked to a beast." _Too much time with Newt._  The thought had him smiling again.  
  
 _Speaking of..._ Now that the creatures had been fed and quieted... Was that singing he heard? He gave the mooncalf a last pat and then followed the sound to the lagoon he had glimpsed earlier.  
  
"Bluebird, bluebird, this is my lucky day." Was that _Bye Bye Blackbird_ Newt was singing as he sat by the water? He had said he knew nothing about No-Maj music. Yet it also seemed unlikely that he had memorized the tune from a single hearing... "Blackbird, bye bye."  
  
"Newt?" Graves queried softly, not wanting to break the spell the man's lovely singing voice had cast.  
  
The magizoologist raised a finger to his lips. "The music calms them," he explained, pointing to the water. The beast last seen snarling and scratching in mindless anger was now peacefully floating in the shallows with another murtlap. "Their tastes otherwise don't seem to be as refined as Joyce's, but..." With a smile and without another word, he started another song. "There's a saying old, says that love is blind..."  
  
The Auror could not place the tune immediately, but he listened, as enraptured as the creatures in the water were. Newt's voice lacked the quaver that was currently en vogue, but his voice, and the sentiment in it, was pure... And resonated in his human listener.  
  
"There's a somebody I'm longing to see..." A tiny, distant, conscious portion of Graves's mind finally recognized the song. "I hope that he turns out to be..." The rest of him was subsumed by the man who looked up at him as he sang. "Someone to watch over me."  
  
He was able to move forward, closer, when those green eyes turned again to the water. His pulse, impossibly, seemed both to race and keep the even tempo of the song. When he reached Newt's side, he ever so carefully crouched down beside him, not wanting the smallest rustle of grass or leaf to disrupt the music.  
  
"Although he may not be a man some girls think of as handsome..." The singer met his eyes again and continued with a playful, knowing smile, "...to my heart he'll carry the key." The Auror's own heart lost tempo at that, then raced ahead. "Won't you tell him please to put on some speed..." Newt's smile faded away into a more earnest expression. "Follow my lead..." His voice roughened ever so slightly. "Oh how I need..." Scarcely daring to breath, Graves reached out and cupped a flushed cheek in an inexplicably unsteady hand. "Someone to watch over me."  
  
Green eyes closed as he leaned forward and took the last, lingering note with his lips. He pulled away slightly after a moment. He felt Newt's hand come up and warm fingers brush down his own cheek. Then, he closed his eyes too and both men leaned forward for another, longer kiss.  
  
It was warm and soft and head-spinning. Their lips parted after a timeless moment, but neither lowered their hands. Eyes still shut, Graves rested his forehead against the other man's.  
  
"A cup of coffee, a sandwich, and you." He was too breathless to sing the words, even if he had wanted to.  
  
"Hm?" Newt drew back a few inches and they both opened their eyes to lock gazes. He was not smiling, exactly, but somehow he... _glowed_.  
  
"You asked me earlier what I wanted," Graves explained. He did smile as he continued, "And that's all that I want." He heard the other man hum the refrain from the song. 'The things I long for are simple and few...' "Just a cup of coffee, a sandwich, and you," he finished aloud, still not singing, still grinning like a fool.  
  
Newt's only response, for the moment, was to pull the Auror in for a third gentle kiss.  
  
"Are you asking me on a date, Percival?" He asked when their lips parted again.  
  
"Yes, Newt." It was difficult to maintain a confident tone under the beam of such a warm, open smile. "Yes, I am."  
  
"I'll take a chance."  
  
"For coffee?" Graves thought of the song lyrics again.  
  
"For more than that." He had never in his life felt this... giddy, as Newt raised his other hand and held his face in both. "For much more than that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Newt's last line is a reference to the song "A Cup of Coffee, a Sandwich, and You" in which the female voice sings that she's take a chance on coffee, but not romance.


End file.
